


Break My Soul.

by Dulcinea, notchi



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, Pack Family, Smut, Top Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Vegeta Being an Asshole (Dragon Ball), Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notchi/pseuds/notchi
Summary: Goku and Vegeta are many things; lovers, husbands, fathers, grandfathers, warriors, even gods. The one thing they’re not? Is good at talking — about anything.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Kakarot/Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Videl Satan/Son Gohan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

For reasons unknown, Bulma had invited people over to their home under the guise of a simple meal, a small gathering. The Prince had known his wife long enough to know that it was utter bullshit, that whenever the blue-haired woman organized events they were neither simple or small. 

He had grumbled about it, and laid out valid reasons as to why they shouldn’t throw yet _another_ event, but in the end she had won him over. Only with a promise that he wouldn’t have to entertain or be forced to talk with anyone, and to ensure this, he would stay in the Gravity Chamber where nobody could bother him in the air tight space. 

The short Saiyan was aware of their arrival, he didn't need his eyes to notify him of their arrival, not when he could feel their ki from where he was. It almost made him regret learning it in the first place, a blessing and a curse it was surely proving to be.

Vegeta’s heart sat heavy in his chest, not a sad or a sorrowful feeling, but a feeling of dread washed over him. This was no phantom ache, this was not a feeling marred by confusion, tangling with the unknown. No, it was a feeling he was familiar with. Perhaps not to this degree, perhaps the weight of the gravity chamber encouraged this onslaught of dread, this race of his heart — he did not know. 

The chamber itself was dimly lit, and his blurring vision did not aid him in finding his ground. He knew what this was, he could _handle_ this. Wrestling with himself, an internal struggle of maintaining and losing control was in pursuit. With no clear ending in sight. 

He hated that the most — the unsureness of it all. Trying to decipher the squeezing in his chest from pain or dread, images flashed before him — _memories_ . Memories of a time that was long gone, but still present — the main source of his restlessness, of _this_ feeling. 

Events from his time spent under Frieza’s rule, from his time under Babidi’s influence. The cold feeling of metal against his cheek, against his neck. Watching his planet blow up, his father and his brothers die, and the helplessness that laid rest deep in his bones. Killing Nappa, destroying Namek, the bloodshed he’d caused and the screams he’d thoroughly _enjoyed_. 

It was too much, a deep ache in his temples blossomed, spreading from the front of his head to behind his eyes, sending jolt after jolt of sharp agony throughout his head. “Agh!” Vegeta yowled, fingers curled so deeply into his palm that he had broken the skin without realizing. 

The prince wanted it to stop, he couldn’t handle these _feelings_ , these mundane feelings — there were so many of them and the more time he had to himself the more _this_ happened. He felt another round of sharp pain shoot through his temple, and upon instinct shot his head back and released a long and voluminous scream — accidentally powering up without even meaning to, causing the chamber to explode and crumble to pieces around him. 

—

A normal lunch like any other day, listening to his family around the table, until Goku felt something. Something awful.

He stopped mid-crunch of his mea, his head jerking up. 

Power. So much ungodly power— 

Power, and pain. _Anguish_.

He saw Chichi’s concerned look, heard her concerned voice. Goten’s too. They hovered around him, asking questions he didn’t want to answer, because the more he focused on the ki, the more he realized who it was.

_Vegeta_.

He swallowed the food in his mouth, cutlery clinking on the plate. His chair skidded on the wood floor as he fled to the front door, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t follow me!” followed by inaudible questions from his family that fell on deaf ears.

Two fingers to his forehead, an easy concentration, and he was right there in half a second. 

He gasped at what he saw.

Crooked, burnt walls. Cracked linoleum floors. The sparks of torn machinery and small fires scattered around computer parts and pieces. Dirt and soot and the smell of blood— 

A crumpled lump under steel, plaster, wires and rubble from the obvious explosion. 

“Vegeta!”

Goku scrambled over, easily moving the large, heavy pieces of machinery and construction out of the way, revealing a bloody, bruised, almost broken Vegeta laying face first into the ground. He fell to his knees and scooped Vegeta up into his arms, rolling him onto his back. 

Unconscious. Breathing, but unconscious.

This was different. Vegeta broke his Gravity Chamber before, but not like this. Not with this destruction. This rage and anguish in his ki. Even passed out as he was, Goku could feel it. If he tried hard enough, the faint link he gained to Vegeta post-fusion fed Goku waves upon waves of unadulterated hurt and fear. 

In the far distance, he could sense oncoming ki’s. People who didn’t need to see Vegeta like this whatsoever. It was a no-brainer what to do next. Two fingers returned to his forehead and in an instant, they instant transmissioned to the Lookout. 

Dende ran over to him. So did Mr. Popo. He cradled Vegeta closer to his chest as he made a bee-line for the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, shouting over his shoulder, “I need the room! Fortify it and make sure _no one_ gets in! Give me one full day, understand? Then you can open the door.”

When he heard Dende’s shaky “uh, o-okay Goku,” he redoubled his efforts and stormed right to the room, shutting the large door behind him. Sealing the two of them inside.

Chichi would understand. She knew about the link he had with Vegeta. Hopefully Bulma would too.

One day to help him. One year to make a difference. 

As long as Vegeta never figured out his feelings, he’d make it out fine. 

-

_Dreaming was so much worse._

Vegeta was always more of a night-owl because of the very small fact that he couldn’t sleep. He would get tired of the constant turning and tossing, the dreams, the reminders of the events he’d endured and the ones he’d caused. It was always so easy for him to shut it off, he found himself wondering when it became so difficult. 

He dreamt about his time on planet Xoirbec, how they had scouted for days chasing a lead that Vegeta had received from a grapevine, only to come out empty handed. He had paid for that then, they had held his head under the merciless waters of that which were home to the ice plane until he had lost consciousness, and they would continue to do it until Frieza deemed the torture enough. 

He had dreamt about the homes he destroyed, about the children he’d killed, and found himself dreaming about the same thing happening to his son, stuck in a constant loop of helplessness that he could not escape no matter how much he tried. 

He thrashed in his unconscious state, twitched and mumbled with a furrow in his brow. Everything ached, he felt himself growing tired of rewatching the destruction he’d caused replay over and over in his head. 

He just wanted everything to _stop_. 

-

Coming back to the chamber this way almost felt comforting. Goku knew this void very well after spending a year with Gohan so long ago. Nothing much had changed, and that was helpful, since he knew where to go and what to do. 

Goku laid Vegeta down onto the bed, careful of his wounds, cuts and scrapes. A quick dash to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and he returned with everything needed to treat Vegeta. He never had the need to take care of his own wounds as an adult, since he had Chichi around to fuss over them instead. Plus, needles. Anything to avoid needles. 

But when Gohan needed patchwork done to his exhausted frame, Goku learned how to perform first aid. He still couldn’t patch up wounds with a needle, but a staple gun helped. Luckily, Vegeta didn’t have such deep wounds. 

Vegeta needed all of the grime wiped off of him though, before he could patch him up. 

_Shit_.

Goku went very, very slow, removing Vegeta’s clothes, hoping the man wouldn’t wake up in the middle of his work and punch him in the face, or worse. All of Vegeta’s clothes landed on the floor, next to the bed, in a dirty pile, leaving the man only in his boxer-briefs and nothing else—a sight that relieved Goku immensely, as he himself didn’t wear underwear at all, and really, really hoped Vegeta didn’t follow suit either. 

He grabbed a bowl from the kitchen, filled it with warm water, some antibacterial soap and a washcloth, before returning back to Vegeta’s side. Goku took his time wiping his body from head to toe, monitoring Vegeta’s breathing—praying he would not wake up, not right now, not when Goku needed to fix him—and by the time he was done cleaning him, he sighed aloud in relief. 

Patching Vegeta up proved easy in the end. They were mostly superficial and were easily addressed by gauze, bandages and bandaids. Once finished, Goku brushed his hand over the top of Vegeta’s sleeping forehead, his eyes narrowing. 

_What happened to you, Vegeta?_

-

  
  


There was something comforting about being surrounded by... _nothing_. Something familiar, almost. Now that was a phantom feeling, familiarity. The oldest Saiyan hadn’t felt anything akin to that in... a long time.

Bulma had suggested that it was a form of something related to trauma and stress, she’d try to bring it up, to work it out with him but the result was always the same; him pulling away, receding further into his shell and Bulma ending up hurt, confused and regretful.

Vegeta felt the heavy tendrils of dread begin to slowly fade away, like a dull ache that had been medicated. The darkness around him blurred, light seeping in slowly to fill in the darkness all around him. So much so, that he was almost sad to see it go. 

His vision began to fill out, and he was able to make out pinks, blacks, and oranges very quickly. Vegeta was unsure if he was actually dead or not, as he stared up at Kakarot who had an indistinguishable expression written across his features. 

Was this hell?

_It has to be._ He mocked himself inwardly. 

Vegeta didn’t so much as startle as he did tense and go rigid, squaring his shoulders in case he needed to fight and toying with his jaw in an attempt to seem more put together, more ready for whatever came his way. 

“Kakarot what are you—“ The prince’s growl was cut short, when he felt a breeze brush over the exposed parts of his body — parts that hadn’t been exposed before he had passed out. “Did you undress me!?” He scoffed, not even taking the time to figure out where he was or why Kakarot was here with him. Much less why he was half dressed. 

-

For a moment, when Vegeta opened his eyes, Goku saw a hint of something akin to peacefulness. Not true peacefulness, but one that was turbulent—if being at peace could also be being at war at oneself at the same time. But the juxtaposition matched who Vegeta was, the Vegeta that Goku knew over these last few years. 

He watched those eyes flutter open, the recognition alighting and the fog of sleep fading—and then came the expression he was waiting for. The one that told Goku _he’s okay, he’s going to be okay, he’s okay_ — 

Goku pulled his arm back to his side, turning his attention away from Vegeta. “You would’ve bled out otherwise.” Despite his best wishes to stay neutral and calm, the fear he harbored inside this whole time manifested itself in a sneer of, “You’re welcome.” 

He walked away from the bed, heading to the kitchen—and he released a long, heavy sigh, wiping a hand over his surprisingly clammy face.

-

Vegeta felt his jaw work at the younger Saiyan’s boldness. The prince had more or less switched sides in the last few years. Or well, at least he didn’t try to kill any of them anymore. However, it didn’t mean that he and Kakarot were anything more than rivals. 

“If you think I’m going to thank you, you are even a bigger fool than I thought.” Vegeta couldn’t help but chuckle at the end of the sentence, a short laugh that lacked any kind of genuine happiness or humour. Instead it was a bitter and hollow thing, almost _mocking_ the very action of it. 

He grumbled and pushed himself off the bed Kakarot had _clearly_ laid him down on, the very idea of anyone carrying him, touching him while he was powerless to do anything about it made his skin crawl. 

Though, there were more pressing things to tend to right now, like — why the _fuck_ were they in the Room of Time and Space? 

“ _Dumbass_! I’m talking to you — why the hell are we here?” He folded his arms across his exposed chest, eyes scanning the floor for his discarded clothes while he yelled in Kakarot’s direction.

-

Goku stopped in front of the fridge, yanking the door open. His breathing turned erratic, no matter how hard he focused on steadying it. Losing control was the last thing he needed to do. But for Vegeta to act this way, after what he did, after what Goku _saw—_

He pulled out a huge tray of cooked, sliced meat and roasted vegetables. “We’re here—“ He slammed the door shut with the heel of his boot, almost toppling it over. “—because _someone_ nearly killed himself in the gravity room.” He slammed the tray down onto the table, almost breaking it under his power, “And clearly doesn’t give a _shit_ about how terrified and hurt the people who _love_ him!” 

His hands shook as they lifted from the tray. 

Goku stared at them—the blood caked under his nails. Vegeta’s blood. 

His vision blurred all of a sudden. 

He gritted his teeth, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes to clear his vision. He spun on his heel in the direction of the chamber’s vast white emptiness and said, “Do what you want.”

-

Vegeta felt confusion grow within him, tangling up and inside his mind. Leaving a full throb in it’s wake. Perhaps in some way, it was understandable for Kakarot to react in such a manner, but knowing him as well as he did — well, it was certainly out of the ordinary for the younger Saiyan. 

Still, Vegeta couldn’t seem to allow himself to see eye to eye with his long-time rival, he did after all undress him and stow him away in here, where they would have to stay for a year.

At least he didn’t have to explain to Bulma why he’d blown up the Gravity Chamber, again. 

“You must have hit your head or something!” He yelled, anger bubbling in his stomach that Kakarot would simply insult him and leave, turn his back on him, a prince. “You seem to forget that I’m the Prince of all Saiyans. Which unfortunately includes you!” 

He felt the palm of his hands crackle with energy from his anger, explosive and ready to blow at any second. That could’ve possibly been the one and only flaw Vegeta possessed, blacking out and seeing red when he was angry and not being able to control it. Though, useful during battle. 

The older Saiyan looked at the table and grumbled, deciding to send a swift and quick kick in it’s direction, causing it to topple over and break. “I also never asked for your help!” Vegeta screamed out into the white void, despite Kakarot’s disappearing figure. 

  
  


-

_Don’t fall for the bait. Don’t fall for it._ Goku walked on, ignoring Vegeta’s yells and screams. _Don’t you dare. He’s trying to rile you up. He wants you to fight him. You know this. You know him._

The sound of the table being knocked over forced Goku to turn back around. 

All the food littered the floor. Some of the meat tumbled down the steps. It wasn’t like that was the only food—the fridge repeatedly restocked itself—but the nerve, the petulant, downright _childish_ tantrum Vegeta was giving him, after pulling him from the wreckage the man caused, after treating his wounds— 

_Don’t fall for it don’t do it don’t give in don’t—_

Goku glared right at Vegeta, his hands turning to fists by his sides.

_He wants you to fight you know this he wants to be hurt more you can sense it—_

Energy coursed through his arms. His hair floated upwards, flickering gold. 

_He’s not in the right mind he’s not okay you know this you can sense it Vegeta’s here but Vegeta’s not okay he’s not okay—_

Goku roared. 

The glow of Super Saiyan engulfed his whole frame. 

He appeared before Vegeta a second later and slammed him against the wall hard, cracks of plaster skipping down to the floor. His large hands dug right into Vegeta’s bare shoulders, chest meeting chest, noses nearly brushing. 

He almost didn’t recognize his own voice when he snarled, “I can’t believe you. All this time since Buu, and you still act like this.” He didn’t recognize it, because it was an angry voice. “You still won’t accept it.” An angry, and sad, voice.

“You blew up the gravity room but it was so different than before and I could _feel it_ from miles away, dammit!” He shook Vegeta a little, his voice rising. “I thought you were dead! I felt this agony around you and it _hurt_ so much to feel it—worse than when you were Majin! You’re _bleeding_ from the inside, and I just—”

Goku pulled back, his vision blurring yet again. “Why can’t I ever be enough to help you?”

-

Vegeta felt his lips curl upwards into an involuntary smirk upon seeing Kakarot turn around to glare at him. His expression was dark, the sinister one he wore well, cold and calculating while still coming off as _amused_.

The Prince parted his lips to say something, to antagonize the younger saiyan further to push him, but before he could a flash of orange appeared before him, and he felt his back hit the wall. Pain blossomed from his lower back upwards into his shoulder blades, but he clenched his jaw and glared to mask it. 

He would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d bested him, _again_.

Vegeta could feel Kakarot’s voice seep into his bones, wrap around his heart and squeeze but his mind told him otherwise. He was not Kakarot’s problem, and he definitely did not want his sympathy to boot, that was just.. all the more _insulting_. 

Hearing Kakarot’s voice lower into one dripping with sadness did not sit well with him. He was being vulnerable, sharing this part of himself that others didn’t normally see and Vegeta… it didn’t sit well with him. It was on rare occasion did he ever see the clown sad or angry, perhaps that was why the older saiyan enjoyed rousing it out of him. 

“You are an absolute fool if you think I’m falling for _this_.” Vegeta could practically smell the younger Saiyan they were so close, could feel his breath on his skin. 

_Too close. Way too close._

He felt that familiar feeling of helplessness wash over him and he shoved at Kakarot’s chest, managing to get loose from his hold. The Prince refused to say anything else, and instead walked towards the white void, the emptiness of the chamber, fingers curling inwards to form a fist. Though, he could hardly pretend that he was angry at _just_ Kakarot.

More so, he was angry at the feelings he tried so desperately to shove down, the weak feelings that constantly tried to force their way out. It was exhausting, and Kakarot was too much of everything he was trying to avoid. 

—


	2. Chapter 2

Goku stared at Vegeta’s retreating form. His hands pulsed from when he grabbed those shoulders in his, the heat still lingering. 

His vision stayed blurred, giving the illusion that Vegeta was fading away, disappearing in the distance. 

The glow of Super Saiyan left him. 

Chichi once told him, “Empathy is a good thing to have, dear, but you have to watch yourself, you could get hurt,” and he thought he understood what she meant. Bulma even warned him about “empathy overload,” because of his heart and his good nature and how he always thought the best of everyone and the goodness inside. 

No one ever brought him to an empathy overload before. Chichi didn’t. Bulma didn’t. His children, his friends, even his most brutal enemies. 

Only Vegeta. 

It was _always_ Vegeta. 

Goku turned his back to the void. He crouched down onto his hands and knees to pick up the discarded food, cleaning up the mess Vegeta made. His breath staggered from the sobs that _wanted_ to come out, but he couldn’t do that, Vegeta could hear, and that would be an opening he didn’t want to give. 

_He’s in pain,_ his heart cried, _he’s hurting and you know this, you feel his pain, you can use that link to find what’s hurting him, but you won’t because what if he knows about it, what if he knew you could pry into his mind at any time, that’s why you took him to the chamber, it’s because you need to know if he knows about the link, if you can actually help him, if you’re enough for him, because you damn well know you love—_

Goku shut his eyes tight. 

He focused on the task at hand, ignoring the way his chest heaved and how pathetically weak his whole body felt at that moment.

  
  


-

  
  


Vegeta was never one to share or express emotions. Besides rage, that was emotion that he had mastered, utilized and had become one with. That was something familiar, something comforting, something he had the least bit of control of.

It was what he felt even _now_.

He felt his dark hair rise as energy coursed through his body, the boiling anger surging through his bloodstream and fueling his power up to Super Saiyan. His hair transformed from it’s usual inky black to the gold blonde colour of a super saiyan, eyes lightening to a bright blue. 

He trudged forwards into the unknown valley of nothingness that was the time chamber, and threw his head back to yell. Forcing an explosion to erupt a few feet away from him. Vegeta was angry, white, hot, anger, in it’s purest form. 

-

When Vegeta returned hours later, he had torn the armour he managed to slip back into before storming off, in several places. His skin was marred by scratches and wounds, burn marks seared into his hands and his shoulder had gone numb hours ago. 

_It’ll be worth it, you’ll come out stronger._

It was basic knowledge that Saiyan’s grew stronger when brought to the brink of death and life, teetering on the edge. He had learned it first hand with being controlled both by Buu and Frieza, and even in some way – Kakarot. 

The Prince’s body screamed, his joints felt as though they would collapse at any second and still he refused to face Kakarot, to accept _anything_ from him. Instead, he attempted to make his way towards the bathroom. 

-

  
  


The hurt kept coming in waves. The agony, the frustration, the inner rage, and the underlying desperate call for help—all from Vegeta. He faced it before when Vegeta died on Namek, pleading for him with his last breaths. He faced it again when Vegeta looked at the crater made post-Cell, and even in Otherworld, he could _feel_ Vegeta’s anguish. The fight with Majin Buu—he pushed that into the far, far recesses of his mind, because Goku couldn’t open that box. He couldn’t handle it. 

But as much as he wanted to shut that side of himself down, Goku couldn’t. There was no way, and probably for the first time in his life, Goku understood the concept of self-hatred.

Cleaning the kitchen didn’t take a long time. He couldn’t be bothered doing anything else. His heart ached like he was enduring the heart virus again, but worse somehow. He simply collapsed into bed and stared at the ceiling, then curled up into a tight, tight ball, succumbing to the need to rest. 

Vegeta’s ki woke him up easily. Goku heard him enter the room, felt the pain coming from his body and his damn mind, and hugged his knees tighter to his chest. _I made a mistake bringing him here, I should tell him he should go, I overreacted, I was wrong—_

He grit his teeth to the point of pain.

  
  


-

  
  


Vegeta slammed the door of the bathroom shut and exhaled deeply, something that would sound like an annoyed breath, but was more just a response to the ache in his bones, the exhaustion creeping up on him. 

It was a silly thing to be thinking of Kakarot while sinking into a tub filled to the brim with hot water, chin resting on the surface while the water worked at his taut muscles, and the knots that resided within them. 

He hadn’t wanted to fuse with Kakarot all that time ago, had been coaxed into it, and it was as though he could still feel the younger saiyan, lurking behind the curtain of his mind. Could sometimes _feel_ him and his emotions, if he let his guard down enough. 

A potential link, created post-fusion. Yet another reason to damn the whole creation they formed, no matter how glorious and powerful being Vegito had been.

However, he couldn’t exactly apologize now. Not since he’d made a point to prove that he wasn’t budging, that he was _fine_. He would surely be fine, unless… he had another PTSD episode. 

The thought unnerved him, and he quickly scrubbed away the sweat coating his body and hair, lifting himself out of the tub with a grunt and wrapping a towel around his waist before making his way out of the bathroom. 

His thoughts could chase him, his memories could hunt him down, but he would not go easily, he willed his mind to be quiet for a moment as he prepared to settle into one against the wall of the chamber. the many beds. 

-

  
  


The sound of the bathroom door closing startled Goku out of his thoughts. He looked at it, hearing the sound of running water, and Goku slowly sat up against the bed’s headboard, hugging his knees to his chest. 

One thought in his head repeated again and again, like a record player’s needle skipping on the vinyl and there wasn’t a way to fix it. He wasn’t smart enough to fix it, or good enough, clearly.

Goku sighed, shutting his eyes. 

His head flopped forward, forehead pressing to his tightly wrapped knees.

Some time passed.

When the bathroom door opened, Goku lifted his head—and froze in place at the sight of Vegeta in nothing but a towel, wet all over. A blush blossomed over his cheeks, running down towards his chest, a heat pooling in his belly— 

_I have to let him go._

Goku swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I brought you here,” he said. “If you want to go, you can. I’ll... figure out a way to tell Dende to let you out.”

-

  
  


Vegeta could practically feel Kakarot’s dread coming off in waves, from his words and from the link he hated to acknowledge. Those feelings mixith his own and swirled in the pit of his chest, creating a ball of anxiety. One quick glance towards the man told him that Kakarot was not handling this well, his eyes still sparkling with the same sadness — like a puppy being kicked to the curb.

 _Good_ , said a voice, somewhere deep inside his consciousness. _He should learn the hard way, like the rest of us._

Vegeta grumbled. _Shut up._ He did not want to deal with this right now, not when Kakarot was speaking of a way to let him out, to free him from this empty prison.

The Prince narrowed his eyes. Then again, why was Kakarot offering to help him leave so easily? Normally it would’ve been a bit more difficult than that, especially when the clown thought he was doing what was best. 

“No,” Vegeta deadpanned, sitting back against the headboard of the soft bed. “You think I’ll go so easily, because _you_ tell me to?” His words were coated with a harsh tone, yet slight amusement, in a dark type of way. “The Gravity Chamber isn't strong enough for what I want to do, so I’ll train here instead.” 

That ugly voice came back, sneering, _that way you won’t have your annoying wife or weak child to worry about._

Vegeta’s temple ached, but he ignored the intrusive thought and settled slightly, not allowing his shoulders to drop. 

—

  
  


Goku slowly blinked once, twice. 

_He’s... not leaving... ?_

He released his arms around his legs, watching Vegeta settle into the bed nearby his own. His brain short circuited at the fact of Vegeta was still here. 

Goku pulled his attention away down to the bedspread beneath him. 

_I still have to let him go._

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll go then,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

-

  
  


Vegeta felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at his words, but allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Long lashes brushing against the calloused and rough skin of his face. He could almost feel Kakarot trying to figure out how to leave. Then again, would that necessarily be a bad thing? 

Yes.

At _least_ the fool was a good enough distraction, keeping unnecessary thoughts at bay. 

“Sure,” Vegeta mused, though he was sure the younger Saiyan would find no humour in his following words. “Go ahead and leave, but I’ll have you know that I _will_ be training in here for the full year...” He trailed off, his eyes still remained shut while he spoke. 

“Getting stronger and stronger…” He dragged out the words, delaying, hoping he would understand what he was trying to get at. “Strong enough to take even _you_ down.” 

He exhaled, as though he were bored, shrugging his shoulders in an “oh well” fashion. “So strong that whoever gets in my way once I’m out of here will die.” 

A promise lay buried beneath his words somewhere. 

-

Goku paused mid-stride out of the bedroom. 

He turned around, glaring right at Vegeta. 

The threat, the promise underneath, the audacity of him saying this after _everything—_

“You asshole.” His hands turned to fists. He shook his head no. “You still think so little of yourself.” He stomped right up to Vegeta’s bed, shouting, “You won’t push me away like you’ve done to everyone, you hear me?!” Right next to the bed, Goku snarled, “You want to fight? You want to train? I’ll give you that, for a full year, but that won’t matter, will it? You can fight and you can train but it won’t give you the help _I know_ you need.”

-

Vegeta scoffed, eyes peeking open to smirk at the glare written across Kakarot’s face. At least there was some amusement in this, in Kakarot’s efforts to help him. These feelings would pass, and it wouldn’t be long now before they barely bothered him. 

“Great. You’re finally learning how to be a proper Saiyan.” He chuckled, a laugh that held some type of genuine humour within it, as though that was the only thing he found funny. “Maybe now you’ll pose as an _actual_ threat.” 

Sure, Kakarot had surpassed him many times before, but he was never too far behind.

Instead of getting back into his undergarments from before, Vegeta pulled on the bottom part of his dark navy armour, leaving the cracked chest plate on the floor in a pile of mess. He would have to wash his clothes later, but there would be time to do that another day. 

“You should get some sleep then, if you’re going to train with me.” He grinned, in a cold manner, already itching to get into it. 

-

Goku’s fists shook. The inner rage mixed with his instincts to fight, but it was tinged with something he hadn’t wanted to feel again. Something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, since his first fight with Frieza.

He didn’t want a friendly spar with Vegeta. 

He wanted to legitimately _hurt_ him. 

Hurt him the same damn way Vegeta hurt him.

His vision blurred yet again, against his will. 

Goku spun on his heel, turning his back to him. “Fine.” 

He didn’t bother taking off his clothes. Goku curled up over the sheets, his back turned to Vegeta. He slammed his head on the pillow, grabbed an extra one and shoved it up and over his head. 

At least then Vegeta wouldn’t see the hurt on his face anymore.

-

The next day arrived too quick. At least, what Vegeta assumed was the next day, considering the landscape never changed here. His only indicator was the level of sand in the large hourglass, and from what Vegeta saw, it was a little less than the last time he saw it. 

Vegeta remained on his back, staring at the ceiling. When sleep wouldn’t come, he laid there, staring up at the dome shaped ceiling of the space and time room. Fighting against the onslaught of dread and memories that threatened to rise up and take control, he refused to allow it. When it did arrive, it was anything but restful. 

In the times when he did lay awake, he thought of the man sleeping on the far, far end of the large shared space. While everyone else thought Kakarot was a simpleton, Vegeta was smart enough to know there was much more to him. He knew that Kakarot had emotions more complex than bubbly cheerfulness, and he had seen a lot of it first hand. 

The link in his head gave Vegeta insight to the man he didn’t ever need to know or care to know. He supposed from a different perspective it was a good tool to have, for moments like this. When he needed to stay awake, else the chance of another episode would occur. 

When he grew tired of lying in bed, he managed to slip out, his steps light and quiet — something he’d learned during his time as a soldier. If you were loud, you would alert the enemy of your position. Right now, Vegeta just desired to be left alone. 

He retrieved his chest plate from the ground and the shirt of his navy armour suit, sliding into it with ease. Vegeta glanced behind him at the still body of Kakarot, and with a grumble walked down the steps into the white nothingness once more. 

Within seconds, he powered up and took off, searching for a place where he could lose himself in. A place where he could just train until he was exhausted enough to find sleep.

-

The sensation of Vegeta’s ki fluxing stirred Goku awake. He sat up, searching out where in the void Vegeta could’ve been, and it wasn’t hard finding him. 

His two fingers rose up for a brief moment, before he forced his hand back. 

Goku sighed. 

_Dammit._ He swung his legs over the bed, coming to his feet. _I need to let him go._ He rested a hand over his heart, shutting his eyes. _I can’t help him anyway._

After fusion, Goku knew so much more about Vegeta. His likes, his dislikes, the pride he harnessed, the confidence he radiated. He didn’t learn much about his past, that wall was sturdy and held up even during fusion, but he could sense the _pain_ hiding behind the thick walls, deep in Vegeta’s psyche. He wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to push it away and give Vegeta needed relief, but he never got the chance, and hadn’t since then. 

The pain Goku felt never really left him. He knew Vegeta was hurting, but he wouldn’t let anyone in. Anyone. He only allowed a few people in, but Goku saw the forced distance there, the purposeful space created by the man, and it pissed him off, because Vegeta didn’t have to do any of that.

Having the link was beneficial, up to a point. It brought him closer to Vegeta, without letting him know it was there. But it gave Goku a level of desperation and need to help, and he knew full well Vegeta would never, ever ask for it.

Even when he blew up his Gravity Room that way. Even with the turmoil and clear anguish that sung over the link when Goku found him. 

Vegeta would never take an offered hand. Especially from himself.

Goku walked to the kitchen, suppressing the emotions running through him from Vegeta. Being empathic was already a nightmare. Fusion only amplified it.

-

It seemed as though the farther Vegeta got away from the dome shaped chamber, the less and less could he feel Kakarot and his ki. Though, if he searched for him he could easily pinpoint him. It was almost frustrating that he could feel him there, lingering underneath his skin. 

He was unsure of how _much_ Kakarot had learned from their time during the fusion. A link was clearly there afterwards, despite his best efforts to reinforce the areas of his mind he didn’t want the younger saiyan poking around, such as his memories. Clearly Kakarot had managed to deep through the cracks in his walls, considering his feelings towards getting _help_.

Vegeta scoffed, working his body and muscles as he threw blast after blast at the empty space before him, droplets of sweat forming on his brow and rolling down his face. “Stupid Kakarot.” He muttered angrily, conjuring more energy to fire blasts at nothing. It almost made him wish he had something or someone to hit, almost. 

-

The sound of ki blasts echoed throughout the chamber. Goku tried focusing on his meal of oatmeal and fruit, but not even the crunch of the apple he was eating could drown out the noise Vegeta was making. He could feel his exhaustion, his anger, his frustration, as muted as they were in his mind, and it only served to ruin his appetite completely, throwing the rest of the food away. 

_Stubborn bastard._

Goku took a deep, deep breath. 

On the exhale, he steeled his resolve and ventured out into the chamber’s white void, out in the direction of Vegeta’s roaring ki. 

It didn’t take long to find him. Goku appeared a good distance away from him, close enough where Vegeta could easily feel his presence, but far enough just in case Vegeta would sucker punch him—something the man clearly had no qualms doing, considered what happened after their last showdown before Buu emerged. 

He kept his fists to his sides, staring at Vegeta’s back. Waiting. Watching. 

His stomach twisted up in tight knots, nausea settling in.

-

The prince felt the earth-raised Saiyan before he saw him, smoke billowing up from the burn mark he’d made on the floor. His hair flickered back and forth from gold to black, his energy from Super Saiyan fading slowly. 

His shoulder ached, his muscles cried but he refused to listen to them, to answer to their desperate pleas for rest. He wanted to hit something, and he wanted to hit something bad.

He whirled around, letting himself land on the ground with an echoing tap of his white boots hitting the pristine floor. Dark hues flickered over to Kakarot, lips turning downwards as if he were about to snarl at him.

“ _Kakarot_!” He practically bellowed. “What the fuck do you want?” 

-

Goku swallowed against the lump in his throat. 

_I have to let him go._

He unfurled his fists, one by one. 

_I have to make myself hate him._

His stomach wretched. His heart punched his chest with every beat. 

_I can’t help him if I love him this much._

His breathing quickened and his mind screamed at him _don’t do it don’t give him what he wants don’t—_

“Hit me.”

-

Vegeta’s shoulder shook, the palm of his hand burned, his knuckles were red and bruised, sure to sport an assortment of purple and blues along the top of them tomorrow, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. 

He exhaled deeply at Kakarot’s words, felt a pull in his stomach and was unable to decipher what it meant exactly. The Prince was never one to stray from a fight, and he _wanted_ to hit something, the fact that he was offering himself up as a target surely helped. 

It may as well be Kakarot. Stupid Kakarot, fusing with him in the first place. Creating this link he never wanted—a link that was too damn similar to something sacred and revered from their Saiyan culture. A link he wouldn’t have ever voluntarily created with this pathetic man, and he would’ve crushed that ring easily in his hand, if he had known this would happen. That he’d be mentally connected to him. 

This never would’ve happened if Kakarot hadn’t begged the bald idiot to spare him when he had first come to Earth. If he had killed him back then, he wouldn’t have to put up with this.

_Then your son wouldn’t be here, asshole._

He couldn’t find himself to care, and that pissed him off more. 

His fingers seared as he threw his head back and roared, forcing his energy to return and assist him in powering back up to Super Saiyan. The palm of his hands crackled with energy, and he started towards Kakarot, connecting his knee with the younger male’s gut to send him flying backwards.

“Gladly.” He growled, low in his throat. 

-

The last time Goku took a punch this hard was years ago, the first time he fought Vegeta. No one up to that point in his life had hurt him that hard, not even King Piccolo. He could’ve powered up to lessen the blow. Could’ve easily given Vegeta a punch back and escalated the fight. 

But Goku knew better, because he knew Vegeta. He knew what had to be done. 

_Make me hate you._

He skidded across the ground, landing on his back, the base of his head slamming hard. He hissed in pain, burns and scrapes pulsing along the outsides of his arms, his stomach throbbing and churning. 

His lungs heaved, his body and his mind screamed at him fight back he’s not going to give up he’s going to kill you— and Goku silenced that voice easily as he returned back to his feet, facing Vegeta. 

Again, he opened his palms forward to Vegeta, his breathing erratic. Not powering up. Staying in base form.

“Hit me,” he said.

-

Vegeta laughed, he threw his head back and laughed maniacally, as though he were truly enjoying watching Kakarot fly back and hurt himself, watching him not even bother to power up to levels Vegeta _knew_ he could in order to defend himself. 

Part of him enjoyed this display and the other part of him felt utterly _insulted_.

“Then fight me!” He roared, chest heaving, accompanied by multiple bruises and dried blood. “You’re really so cocky that you refuse to even fight me in your most powerful form?” _So fucking insulting._ When did Kakarot stop seeing him as a challenge, as his equal? 

The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

The Prince, beckoned forth, summoned the energy to run at the larger framed Saiyan full force, slamming into him and sending them flying to the floor. He pinned him there, and pulled his hand back, fingers curling inwards to form a fist that connected with Kakarot’s cheek. 

“Fuck you!” Vegeta spat, shoving his knee into the male’s chest once more. “You dare think you’re better than me!? I thought I was your equal!” He growled, his hair flickering as his vision blurred – though not from tears, but from working himself to exhaustion. 

He delivered a few more blows to his face, though they began to slow as he grew more tired. However, the deadly glare did not leave his face, and his body shook with the rage boiling within him. 

-

The pain of each punch lessened with each blow. Blood filled his mouth. Darkness inched in from the corners of his vision. His vision turned blurry, sound disappeared, the punches and Vegeta’s words muffled, and it didn’t matter. This was needed. Deserved. What Goku had to do. 

_I have to hate him._ _I can’t help him otherwise._

_For my sake. For his sake._

The tears finally fell, mixing with the sweat and blood. 

_Because I’ll never be enough for him._

He focused on the outline of Vegeta’s frame from above. 

“You’re... more... than my equal,” he rasped out. “You’re better.” His bloody lips curved into a weak smile. “You don’t... need me... anymore.” 

The comforting darkness took the rest of his sight away, and Goku succumbed to it with a gentle sigh.

-

Albeit his punches growing weaker and losing the fighting juice he had so desperately worked up just for _this,_ it wasn’t until a few punches later, and a pleasant numbness in his hands that he realized he had rendered Kakarot unconscious, that he was bleeding and crying and… 

The prince shoved himself off the larger man, and observed the shallow breaths he was taking, a sharp pain through his head told him that this wasn’t normal, that this wasn’t one of their regular fights. This was something _different_.

Had Kakarot given up? 

“Fuck you!” Vegeta seethed, feeling the urge to kick his heel into the earth raised Saiyan’s side as a response, but withheld begrudgingly. With a grunt he slid his arms under the younger yet exceedingly _large_ male and managed to lift him up. “You don’t get to die on me.. fucking, ton of bricks.” The prince muttered, as he forced himself back in the direction they had come — he had wished that he had instant transmission right now.

Fucking Kakarot.

Though, the situation was perplexing. He had never known Kakarot to simply give up, he had expected something of a fight, something to take his anger out on… but he had knocked him out cold, and Kakarot had _allowed_ him to. He wasn’t a fool, battles with him were rarely ever easily won. 

When they returned back to the room, Vegeta dropped him onto the bed a little more roughly than he meant to, though he couldn’t say he didn’t find it the least bit amusing.

He rummaged around the first-aid kit, until he located a salve, and began ripping sheets to use as makeshift bandages. With no regard for Kakarot’s clothing, he had ripped the front of his gi open, hoping that he had another one laying around — otherwise it was going to be _quite_ the conversation when he woke up.

He began dressing Kakarot’s wounds, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder as he worked on applying the salve, and wrapping his wounds using the ripped cloth of the bed sheets. It was almost second nature to treat and dress wounds, Vegeta had tended to his own so much that it became a habit. Though, he didn’t always have the best materials — and he once had to set his arm back in place due to an explosion, this was pretty timid, in terms of gruesomeness. 

“Kakarot.” Vegeta wouldn’t admit it, but he felt a tinge of worry edge it’s way into his tone of voice. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one suffering. Then again. Kakarot hadn’t said anything.

“Idiot, wake up.” 

-

Numb. Dull aches. Throbbing pressure in his head, neck, shoulders. 

No more blood flooded in his mouth. The leftover tang of it did though, and he winced, groaning aloud. 

He blinked himself awake.

The pain he felt usurped the shock of finding Vegeta there, with the first aid kit beside him, clearly used. 

_No_.

He glanced down at himself—and there it was. Bandages, wounds dressed, all the damage treated, his gi top gone. Bruises littered the skin, black and purple and green marking him everywhere with the cuts and the deep gashes. Every piece of himself he offered to Vegeta to destroy, so he could let him go. So he could finally shut his feelings for this man down, for good, instead of needing to try every single time to save him, because of a reason Goku knew deep down, a reason he didn’t want to bring to the surface, but there it was. The evidence. Right in front of him. 

He shook everywhere. _He wasn’t—he was supposed to—he was gonna—he should’ve—_

Goku turned his attention back to Vegeta.

_He was supposed to kill everything I love about him._

Stared right at him. Right at Vegeta’s dark eyes. 

_Because I need—he needs—to go—to stop this—to give me a reason because—_

Goku closed his eyes, fighting the burn of tears returning under his lids.

-

“Kakarot.” Vegeta said his name, upon seeing him regain consciousness once again. He was unsure of whether his voice held relief or annoyance, but he wasn’t about to correct it either. He disliked Kakarot at worst, maybe deep down hated him for the things he represented, the things Vegeta couldn’t be, but he didn’t want him to _die_. 

Then he’d truly be alone, he was too selfish to even entertain the thought. As much as he wanted to be alone, he took solace in knowing there was always _someone_ waiting for him, supporting him. Whether it be Trunks, Bulma, or… Kakarot. 

“I swear to fucking god if you die on me, I will _kill_ you.” The threat was empty, and the anger more so came from a place of worry and possibly guilt, not that he’d let that on. 

“It is a waste of our race to just.. die off.” He scoffed naturally, like the thought was an extremely foreign concept to him. As though it would never happen, even though it was certainly a possibility. 

He did not intend for this day to be it.

“W-Why are you crying!? I didn’t hit you that hard!” Vegeta’s hair had long since returned to it’s inky black, and he was beginning to feel the pain in his muscles even more so, but he promptly ignored it. 

One thing Vegeta wasn’t good with was emotion, especially crying… _shocker_.

-

_Weak_ . Goku screwed his eyelids tighter, but the tears came out regardless. _Stupid fool._ He groaned, sitting up as best he could. _Just like Vegeta always said I was._

The most he could move was a few inches up the bed, so a portion of his upper body rested against the headboard, his head flopped back on the pillow. 

Because of _course_ the link had to kick in at this exact moment. Of _course_ he had to feel Vegeta’s exhaustion and pain from pushing himself so much, right at the exact moment that he himself was in pain too, serving to only amplify everything Goku was feeling ten fold and then some. The universe had it out for him.

Against his wishes, Goku bubbled out a chuckle, saying soon after, “You shouldn’t have stopped.”

-

Vegeta’s eyebrows worked themselves into their signature furrow atop his face, lips curling downwards in a frown. He stood, shaky but still sturdy enough to remain upright and glared down at the younger saiyan. “Like I said, it’s just you and me left.” 

Kakarot’s words did not sit with him well, and the familiar feeling of dread, his own and the phantom feeling of the other Saiyan’s mingled together, creating the familiar sensation of tingling anxiety. 

He did _not_ like that.

“Actually, I know you weren’t giving it your all out there — it’s a shame. You’re my only equal.” It wasn’t much of a compliment, but it was the best Vegeta could muster up – he wasn’t good at complimenting in general, nevermind when it came to _this_ clown.

Still, something about his sad eyes, about the way he didn’t fight him.. it was weighing heavy on his mind, so much so that he was beginning to feel the start of a headache. 

“Do you want food or something?” He asked awkwardly, putting a little distance between himself and Kakarot. The air around them felt suffocating. 

-

It should’ve pleased him to see Vegeta this way: uncomfortable, unsure, almost apologetic in his compliment. As close to apologetic Vegeta ever showed since Goku knew him. 

Goku sighed, shaking his head no. “Not now.” 

He returned his attention to the white ceiling above. His body would recover in time. The bruises will fade, the cuts and wounds will heal, and nothing will scar his face, so no physical reminders either. 

The wounds inside, though. Those were a different matter. 

But even now, even though Goku knew full well that he was a fool for not just walking away, leaving Vegeta to his own devices and downfall, he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t—and he couldn’t force Vegeta to give him a reason to leave either. He tried, and failed, miserably. 

Goku shut his eyes. 

_I wish I hated you._

Without his knowledge, his next thought was muttered aloud, under his breath: “I wish I could.”

-

The shorter male exhaled through his nose, the air was growing hot and sticky, clinging to his skin like a sheet of paper. It hadn’t bothered him too much the last time he was in here, but perhaps he’d changed, if only a little now, because it seemed almost unbearable. 

“Okay..” Vegeta mumbled, stepping back in confusion before bringing a hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

_I swear to fucking god if this idiot is getting delusional on me—_

“I wouldn’t move around too much if you know what’s good for you.” And Vegeta assumed that Kakarot did know what was good for him, considering how often he took breaks and rested, anyways.

The prince turned away and with a roll of his eyes, made a beeline for the bathroom. Grumbling about how _he_ couldn’t handle Kakarot going insane, that he would threaten to kill Mr.Popo if he didn’t let them out when it happened. 

However, he had more _pressing_ matters now. Such as, this hot and sticky air felt almost _too_ thick around him. It wasn’t far off from how random surges of his memories, of his crimes, made him feel. 

His time on Arlia, where he defeated an evil ruler just so they could destroy the planet. Killing innocent Namekians for _nothing,_ eating other aliens when they had no other choice, murdering thousands of families while listening to their parents screams and partly enjoying it— 

He growled low in his throat, finger scratching at his armour to get it off. When it finally came free, he stepped into the cold shower and allowed his back to slide against the wall until he was sat down, — it felt almost normal at the bottom of the shower, it felt cooler and more manageable. 

Perhaps, Kakarot wasn’t all wrong.

Not that he’d ever say it out loud, though. 

-

Goku listened to the sound of running water coming from the other room. If he had been smart and bought a senzu bean or two before coming in, he could heal immediately and just _leave_ and not give a damn about what Vegeta would say—a lie Goku had to believe in. 

His mind registered heat that wasn’t his own. A smoldering, thick sensation of suffocation, of almost being burned alive, but not. 

Goku turned his attention to the bathroom, frowning. 

He took a deep, deep inhale.

Held it at the top as he closed his eyes. 

On the exhale, he focused all of his energy and attention into Vegeta’s feelings, into the link and brought it up to the surface. 

It was a faint signal. Weak. He concentrated harder, relaxing his tired body, following the current of Vegeta’s turbulent emotions, a current that threatened to drown him at times, but Goku knew how to keep his head above the hot water. 

Faint images came through his mind. Images, thoughts and feelings that were not his own. 

So much heat. Ungodly heat. 

Feelings of anger, of rage and shame. 

Old feelings of elation, sadistic glee—the sound of an inhuman laugh. The sound of Vegeta’s laugh when he first came to Earth. 

Weird looking creatures being slaughtered. So many cries of innocents. Blood over hands. Blood smeared onto faces. Eating disgusting food. Will to survive. Will to survive no matter what happened or the cost or anything— 

“Ahh!” Goku’s hands flew to his head, squeezing the sides hard. 

The _anguish_ . The _torment_ and self-hatred and doubt and— 

“S-Stop!” He slid his hands over his face, shutting the link down, his breathing erratic, his body trembling all over. “Fuck... fuck...”

-

Vegeta felt a familiar tickle in the back of his head, signal flares telling him that there was something going on — it reminded him of when Bumla would tell him that when her ear started ringing, a silly superstition that meant someone was talking about her.

He tilted his head back, letting the cold water run down his face as another onslaught of memories hit him in a painful flash, one that had him reaching out to grip the side of the tub with a ruthless force. 

-

_“Prince Vegeta what are you—“ Nappa’s gruff voice from behind him, as he tore the head off of the alien, who’s planet they’d just spent no more than a day conquering. Nappa’s voice was drowned out by the sound of Vegeta sinking his teeth into the raw flesh, causing bits of blood to smear across his face and onto his clothes._

_Vegeta could feel the larger Saiyan shift uncomfortably, could feel the awkwardness as he stood there. With wide eyes, glittering with the look of some feral beast glittering in them he turned to face his subject, annoyed._

_“Eat.” There was no courteous tone, no friendly quip to his voice - not that there ever was - only a tone of demanding, one that could fit only the Prince. He ripped off a limb for the uncomfortable Saiyan, causing even more blood to splatter across his face and threw it at him without warning._

_Nappa stared for a few seconds, the limb painted the palm of his hands red within seconds, and Vegeta couldn’t help but allow for a dark chuckle to escape his mouth._

_“Eat.” Vegeta demanded, and lifted his hand, out stretching two fingers to form a finger gun that he pointed at his partner. Nappa didn’t seem startled by this, in any case he swallowed whatever was bothering him and forced himself to eat._

-

Vegeta felt the tickle disappear in an instant, vanish, not just something that faded over time like an ache. As if someone had been listening, watching, and it had been _too_ much for them. He watched as blood and grime from his body circled the drain, then looked away. 

_Fuck this_. 

Vegeta dried himself off and exited the bathroom in his towel, his eyes fell to Kakarot who seemed to be in the midst of a panic attack, or a _really_ bad migraine. Either way, it looked rough enough. 

“I need clothes.” Vegeta cleared his throat, folding his arms over his chest. “I didn’t have time to bring anything and I’d like to head back out.” He explained, and waited with his patience slowly ticking away. 

-

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Big inhale through the nose. Hold at the top for four seconds.

The exhale lasted eight seconds, ending on a wet-sounding note. 

He rubbed at his suddenly cold face. 

Blood everywhere. Disgusting smells. Anger, rage, frustration, _anguish_ — 

His breathing picked up. 

Limbs and broken bodies and evil laughter and need to survive and _despair_ — 

He leaned forward, curling his upper body in a perfect ‘c’ shape, bangs falling over his shaking hands on his face. 

Fire hot burn trepidation bloodlust frustration rage _must get stronger_ fear anger rage heat too hot too much _must be the best_ hurting and fighting and fighting and _fighting_ for years for decades _must kill everyone_ the rage the heat the anger the fire the despair the pit of despair pulling him in dragging him down sinking him into a palpable oozing darkness, _must fight must kill must FIGHT—_

Goku clawed at his own face. Rubbed it again and again with his clammy palms.

Tears, again. Damned tears, falling against his will. 

-

The prince stared at Kakarot, who had quickly turned into a mess on the floor. His eyes widened, and lips parted slightly — surprised. There weren't many times where Vegeta was surprised, but seeing Kakarot on the floor crying was _definitely_ one of those times.

A sharp pain, another memory.

-

“ _What are you doing?” A smaller version of himself, knees hugged to his chest and tail wrapped around his ankles wiped aggressively at his cheeks at the startling voice, in all of it’s deep gruffness, he would still never get used to it._

_“Nothing!” The Prince exclaimed, he could feel his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment, and shoved the shame down that attempted to force itself back up._

_“Soldiers do not cry.” His father stated, there was clear disapproval in his tone, and the younger version of his father couldn’t help but nod his head — he knew that. “The Prince of the Saiyan race, does not cry.”_

-

Vegeta knew that, he knew that Saiyan’s didn’t cry, he knew that they weren’t supposed to. Then again, Kakarot wasn’t the average Saiyan either. 

He couldn’t spend an entire year like this. 

“ _Kakarot_.” He hissed, sucking in air through his clenched teeth. It was almost coincidental that Kakarot was having these feelings at the same time he was… Maybe the fusion connection still held strong. Maybe stronger than he thought. 

With an urgency, he screwed his eyes shut and focused his energy, reaching into the depths of his mind — a place he did not go to strengthen the barriers against the fusion connection. Perhaps, it was possible that, with these new suffocating feelings that the reinforcements in his mind weren’t holding up. 

“Kakarot, get up.” He opened his eyes again, staring down at the younger Saiyan. 

-

Self hatred. Embarrassment. Shame—shoving it down, deep down, hold it in, hold _everything in,_ must fight, must be strong, must be the best— 

Goku sniffed, curling himself in a tighter ball, and his old tail scar pulsed. A phantom pain, of a limb that wanted to move, to comfort, to hold, but it wasn’t there anymore. It wouldn’t ever come back, Kami made sure of it when he was 15, but now— _now_ —

He surrendered to the power behind each and every one of his muffled sobs that rocked his body back and forth.

“I want my tail back,” he murmured, trying to shut the emotions down, the hurt that threatened to take over his whole mind—emotions that mixed with his own—and the pain from the beating he got, the pain he was feeling from Vegeta’s words, the _pain_ — 

Goku hissed through his teeth. 

-

“Kakarot, you’re a Saiyan _, get up._ ” Vegeta continued.

Seeing Kakarot like this was mortifying, he decided.

The towel-clad Saiyan crouched down at his words about his tail, hesitantly reaching out and wrapping the palm of his hands around Kakarot’s wrists. It wasn’t much, it probably wasn’t _anything_ but it was all he could offer.

“Kakarot,” He said sternly, wondering if he could ever convince him to stop, wondering if he even realized what he was doing. Sometimes, when Vegeta went into a fit of rage he’d black out and gain consciousness without even realizing the damage he’d caused. 

“I..” He swallowed thickly, this was such foreign territory to him, he didn’t even comfort Bulma when she’d cry, he’d just pretend he was asleep and didn’t hear her. 

“I miss it too.” The shorter male confessed, lowly, barely audible. “My tail.” 

-

That hand. Vegeta’s hand, on his wrist. Holding it. 

The images dissipated. The emotions still lingered, but they were much less intense than before. 

He lifted his head, meeting Vegeta’s gaze. 

Drenched in water. Fresh from bathing. Only in a towel. Vegeta could’ve just left, put on his clothes, leave the chamber like he said because Goku wasn’t believing for a second he’d come back—

_He’s trying. He’s... actually trying._

He looked away from that beautiful stare. 

_No. I can’t get my hopes up. I have to stop this. I have to..._

He focused on his breathing. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. That hand, Vegeta’s warm hand on his wrist, centered his mind. Helped him calm down and push the other emotions away. 

He licked his lips before saying, “I wouldn’t mind it back, really. But I can’t control myself with it. Our form.”

-

Vegeta felt many things at once when Kakarot’s dark hues met his own. Confusion, anxiety, sorrow, _rage_. So many emotions, that it almost made him feel dizzy. The younger Saiyan’s voice pulled him from his head again and he nodded slowly.

“It’s quite dangerous if you can’t control it,” he said, and soon felt embarrassment bubble up. This was uncomfortable for him, and he didn’t like being forced out of his comfort zone. 

“I need clothes.” He cleared his throat, loosening his grip around Kakarot’s wrists until he was no longer holding them. Suddenly _too_ aware of their close proximity. The Saiyan stepped back, focusing more on the dull ache in his shoulder rather than dwell on feelings. 

He stood up, raising an eyebrow. “Surely I can’t be expected to fight and train in a towel.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he reached down to adjust the slowly falling cloth settled around his hips. 

-

It took a moment before Goku was able to get on his feet. The heat from Vegeta’s hand lingered in a good way. “There’s some clothes over there”—he pointed to the other side of the chamber to a closet—“but it’s not armor, they’re a bunch of gi pants and tops of different sizes.” He smiled softly. “Not orange though.” 

He turned his gaze downward, away from the sight of Vegeta’s wet chest, rubbing the space where Vegeta’s hand was on his wrist. “You should find something there, I think.” He shrugged. “Unless you wanna leave.”

-

“I can’t leave.” Vegeta mumbled, turning towards the closet and wrinkling his nose in disgust at the mention of gi clothes. He preferred his armour, but he couldn’t exactly train or fight in a towel – that wouldn’t do. 

He rummaged around the closet until he settled on a fitting pair of gi, dark navy and blues like his own — muted in comparison to Kakarot’s head-turning orange. 

“I’m going back out.” Was all he said, before he made a beeline for the white void for training. If there was anything that could make him feel _normal,_ it was working himself in training. 

-

Goku blinked in the direction of Vegeta’s ki heading out into the distance. 

_He... can’t leave?_ He tilted his head to the side. _But... but he can..._ His eyes widened. _Unless.._ . His lips curled into a tiny smile. _He doesn’t want to leave... because of me?_

Goku shook his head, slapping himself on the side of his temple. He turned away from the white void, heading towards the kitchen. _No, don’t you dare, you can’t get your hopes up. He just wants to train. He doesn’t want to be here because of me. You know this so stop it. Stop thinking he’s ever going to think of you the way you think about him._

He sighed as he opened the fridge door, pulling out a pitcher of water and a bag of bread to eat. It wasn’t enough for his body, but it was all he knew he could stomach, what with it still being in knots after what he felt and saw beforehand—and everything else prior. 

It was going to be a very, very long year.


End file.
